


Brothers in Blood and Shadows

by Jay_the_bird



Series: The wild west AU [2]
Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan, The Brotherband Chronicles - John Flanagan
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Fluff, Fratricide, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Seasickness, Vomiting, Whump, Wild West AU, ferris is a bastard, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_the_bird/pseuds/Jay_the_bird
Summary: the sequel to Children of Dust and Ashes, my Wild West AU of RA that got a bit out of hand and ended up with more angst than it was meant to and a plot that was determined to stick in where it wasn't wanted.Lewis, one of the main characters in this fic, is rangerthursday11's OC
Relationships: Cassandra | Evanlyn/Alyss Mainwaring, Crowley Meratyn/Halt O'Carrick, Gilan/Lewis, Hal Mikkelson/Stig Olafson, Horace Altman/Will Treaty
Series: The wild west AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850326
Comments: 16
Kudos: 28





	1. White Heather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (and indeed, much of this book) is dedicated to Stressed Depressed and Well Dressed. Legend. Thank you.
> 
> I did have this planned, and I apologise for the unnecessary pain you went through to get here. 
> 
> So here's to new beginnings.
> 
> \- Jay

Halt had been gone for fourteen long hours. Will sat at the same table as he had when they had been dragged away, an empty glass collecting dust on the rough-hewn wooden surface. He felt helpless. Every so often, one of the others would try and engage him in conversation, but their efforts fell on deaf ears as he sat there, staring after his mentor as if trying to make him return by sheer force of will. He knew beyond a shadow of doubt that if he let himself consider the idea that Halt wouldn’t come back for him, he would drown in despair and panic. Already, he couldn’t quite tear his mind away from the thought of Liam, lying dead in the dust with his neck broken and his skin clammy. The memory made him feel sick.

From time to time, Alyss would attempt to start a conversation with him, but Will had decided to ignore her, no matter what she asked or told him. It wasn’t easy. He liked Alyss, and she could be incredibly persistent when she wanted to be.

“They aren’t just going to appear because you keep staring after them.” Alyss said, sitting down next to him. Continuing to watch the end of the street, Will’s fist clenched and relaxed over and over again. He needed them to come back. He needed Halt to come back – and Crowley too, but that was more because he knew that otherwise Halt would tear himself and thw whole world apart looking for him. But Halt was his mentor, was close to a father, was someone he could rely on to be there no matter what. “Will, they aren’t coming back.”

“He promised he wouldn’t leave me.” Will replied stubbornly, tilting his chin up in defiance. “He’ll be back. You’ll see.”

“She’s right.” Turning his head to see Horace shrugging apologetically, Will couldn’t help but feel betrayed, as though he was being teamed up on. “Even if they weren’t injured, they’re hopelessly outnumbered, and also being restrained. It would take a miracle for them to be able to get free.” Scowling, Will’s hand drifted to his saxe knife, drawing reassurance from the solid feeling leather bound hilt.

“They’re Rangers.” He said angrily, entirely forgetting his decision to ignore them all. His anger was partially fuelled by the sinking feeling that they were right. He knew he had got off relatively easy in the battle for Araluen – with only two cracked ribs as opposed to Crowley’s stab wound and the numerous injuries most of the other Rangers had suffered. Even so, he felt pain with every breath, and the more he thought about how battered Halt and Crowley had been, the less he was convinced that they would even be able to stand up, let alone fight off their kidnappers and return to him. 

“They’re still human.” Alyss replied calmly, although Horace looked slightly doubtful. “And the odds are very much against them ever coming back – let alone returning right this second.” Again, Will scowled, clinging to his steadfast belief with single minded determination.

“They’re Rangers.” He repeated. “They’ll come back. Halt won’t leave me behind again.” Despite his anger, Will kept his gaze on the end of the street. Alyss exchanged a look with Horace and put one of her hands over Will’s in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. He snatched his hand off the table and away from her, a thin cord dangling from his clenched fist as he did so.

“Will… I don’t think he has a choice right now.” Her patience and soothing tone were not matched by Cassandra, who sighed loudly and rolled her eyes at him.

“Look, when someone gets taken away by people who claim they’re already dead, it’s never a good sign.” She said sharply, harshly. Will appreciated it more than Alyss’s diplomacy – he wanted the chance to argue with someone, to let out all his anger and guilt and fear in one go and then forget it and move on.

“So, what. You want me to give up on him?” Casting a desperate look around at his friends, Will had the look of a caged animal about him. He clung to anger as a lifeline, not allowing doubt to seep in and corrode the foundations that he was standing on, the faith that was the only thing still holding him together. “Halt would never give up on me. Never.”

“Don’t give up. But don’t just sit around waiting for him to come back, because he won’t. They aren’t going to just come back.” Cassandra shrugged infuriatingly, and Will realised he had stopped watching the end of the street. He turned back, fighting back the panic that threated to rise in his throat. Somewhere in his mind, he had decided that the longer he watched for them, the better Halt and Crowley’s chances were of getting back. Looking away felt like he was personally dooming them. For half a moment, Will fought back the panic in silence. Then he heard hoofbeats – two pairs, even and steady, two horses riding at a canter. Will felt his heart skip a beat.

“Halt.” He whispered, glad that he was sitting down as his legs went weak beneath the table. Horace heard it next and swore softly, half standing to get a better view as a cloud of dust appeared to the north, getting gradually closer to them. The one logical part of his brain still functioning reminded him that Halt and Crowley had been dragged away to the south, mostly unconscious by the time the fuss had died down, but he ignored it, determined to believe that they had miraculously escaped and were returning in triumph. As the dust cloud got closer, he realised that he recognised one of the horses. An emotion he couldn’t name welled up in his throat, bubbling up through his lungs, filling his mouth with a choked sob that was somewhere between disbelief and despair and joy, uncontrollable, overwhelming.

“That’s not Halt.” Alyss said, concern clear in her voice. She sounded far off, too distant for Will to care as he gripped the rough-hewn wood of the table like it was his only connection to life and reality. “Will, that isn’t Halt.” Her worry was clear, and Horace drew his sword in readiness, even as he sat back down again. Tears pricked at the corners of Will’s eyes as he ignored them, wholly focussed on the tall figure dismounting awkwardly only a few meters away from them. Another choked sob wracked uncontrollably through his body.

“Hello Will.” Said Gilan, grinning. Will’s breath caught in his throat, the questions from Horace sounding too far off to be of any concern whatsoever to him. Nothing, he thought, could possibly be important other than the fact that Gilan was alive and appeared to be well, and was as happy as ever.

“You’re alive.” He choked, and though he couldn’t remember standing up, Will was suddenly running across the few dusty meters between them and hugging Gilan too tightly. “I knew you couldn’t be dead.” Will lied, closing his eyes tight against the tears still prickling at their corners. There was a quiet hiss of pain from Gilan, and, as Will stepped back, he realised for the first time that Gilan was heavily bandaged under his clothes, and that there was another man with him, who gave a long-suffering sigh and leaned back to check Gilan’s back, presumably for signs of injury. Fear rose in Will’s chest, convinced that he’d somehow done something horribly wrong. However, Gilan seemed unbothered apart from the involuntary sound of pain.

“If you’ve ripped your stitches again, I’m not redoing them.” The note of exhaustion in the stranger’s voice was clear. Gilan grinned broadly at him as he spoke, unbothered by the threat.

“Yeah you are.” Elbowing his companion in a familiar manner, Gilan continued to grin. “You did the first five times.” The other man looked frustrated. He was smaller than Gilan but looked to be about the same age as him, with dark wavy hair half gathered back from his face – which had patches of lighter skin across it and was not unattractive. Despite his obvious frustration, the stranger was hiding a smile. Will realised that the two of them were close in the way that Crowley and Halt were, and promptly felt his face heat up with embarrassment as he avoided looking at Horace – though he couldn’t explain to himself why he was doing so.

“Sometimes I think you know me too well.” The stranger grumbled good naturedly. Still smiling, Gilan beamed at the other man.

“Introductions.” Gilan said, still smiling. “This is Will and… his friends, Will and friends, this is Lewis. My – my partner.” Draping an arm around the man’s shoulders, Gilan looked incredibly happy. It was all Will could do to hold back the tears of relief and joy at seeing him alive.

“Oh. Yeah – this is Horace, Alyss, and Cassie. Cassandra, I mean. Guys, this is… Gilan.” He grinned, his smile slightly watery as he pointed at eache of them in turn, managing to hold himself back from hugging Gilan again. They gaped at him silently, Horace’s face showing clear confusion as he worked slowly through the list of Rangers whose names he knew and arrived at the conclusion that this particular name belonged to one who should not be standing in front on them.

“Wait, wait, wait. I thought he was dead!” Horace said eventually, after a long, stunned silence. “Didn’t you say he was dead?” Looking around at the others for support, his confusion clear, Horace gestured desperately at Gilan, who grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Not quite.” He beamed, winking broadly at Lewis, who sighed in a way that was obviously meant to conceal his amusement. “Anyway, where’s Halt? And Crowley, I want to surprise them.” As all of the others turned to Will, his hands began to shake a little, the hurt and confusion written clearly on his face. Gilan went through all the stages of grief in nearly six seconds and then landed solidly back at denial. “No. They can’t be.” He looked at Lewis and then turned back to Will, seeming lost, as though his foundations had been ripped out from below him in one fell swoop. “Not Halt. Not Crowley.” The devastation in his voice was hard to listen to.

“Oh!” Will realised what he meant and shook his head rapidly, trying to reassure him. “No, they’re not dead. Crowley got arrested for killing Halt, which doesn’t make any sense because Halt was right there next to him when the guards took them away.”

“Arrested?” Laughing with relief, Gilan glanced around the group, a frown creasing his brow as he saw the seriousness on their faces. “Where were they taken?”

“Towards the river. They said something about Clonmel.” As a trace of concern passed over Gilan’s face, Alyss frowned slightly. “Isn’t that in Ireland?”

“Yes.” All of a sudden, Gilan seemed even taller, drawing himself up with an air of decision. Lewis sighed heavily. “Right. I’ll catch up with them and bring them back. Shouldn’t be too long, maybe a week at most.” Will started to protest, the idea of being left behind again causing panic to claw up his throat. “You stay with Harrison and Liam.”

“Oh.” A small, broken sound escaped Will. Noticing, Gilan tilted his head in confusion.

“Don’t tell me they’ve been arrested too?” The grin faded from his face as Will’s grief became clearer, the image of Liams dead face swimming behind his eyes as he struggled to stay focussed on Gilan.

“They’re dead.” He replied shortly. “And the fifth branch. And – there were six who died yesterday, but they didn’t say who. Samdash, I think. But I don’t know who else.”

“Shit.” Gilan replied, stepping forwards to hug Will. “I’m sorry.” For a few long moments, he was quiet, trying to process it all. “What about Jurgen?”

“They’re alive.” Shaking with the effort of holding back the sobs, Will hugging Gilan tightly again, trying to avoid the bandaged areas. For his part, Gilan held back the hiss of pain that threatened to escape him.

“Stay with Jurgen then. You’ll be safe with them.” Stepping back, Will shook his head.

“That’s what Halt said about Liam, and now he’s dead.” He replied, anger slipping into his voice. “I’m not getting left behind again.” Gilan looked him up and down, frowning.

“It’s too dangerous. This is about Halt’s past -about before he was a Ranger. Even I don’t know how bad that is, but I know it’s dangerous. Dangerous for Halt, which means dangerous for us.” The unspoken message that they were brothers through Halt hung in the air, unnoticed by Horace and the others.

“I killed Morgarath. I’m not scared of Ferris or whoever it is.” Will replied, fury bubbling up to the surface.

“You should be.” Voice cold in a way Will had never heard before, Gilan turned away from him. “Lewis, we’ve got to get going.”

“I assume we’re riding the hell-beasts again.” He muttered, following Gilan.

“It’s pronounced horses.” Gilan replied as they left, mounting back up onto Blaze and the other horse before tapping their heels to the flanks and taking off, riding towards the river as they left Will and his friends in a cloud of dust.

“Right.” Will said, anger and frustration and fear mingling in his voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Putting her hands on her hips, Alyss stepped in-between him and Tug.

“It means I’m going after them.” He replied, with the same coldness that Gilan had carried in his voice.

“Well that makes no sense.” A small frown creasing her brow, Alyss spoke calmly and firmly. “Going after them won’t help. If you want to stop them before they get to Clonmel, you need to get ahead of them.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” There was more venom in his tone than he meant there to be, and he looked down at his feet, a little ashamed. “Sorry.”

“Come with me. Ms. DuLacey and the couriers are leaving tomorrow. We’re going to the city. And couriers know the fastest routes. If you ride with us, you’ll get there first, and you’ll have time to plan a rescue before they set sail.”

“I’m coming too.” Horace said, standing up at last. He looked so determined that Will couldn’t find the energy to argue with him.

“So am I.” Standing up too, anger burned in Cassie’s eyes.

“No.” Speaking in unison, Will and Alyss shared a glance before she continued.

“Gilan was right. It’s going to be dangerous. And you’ve never even left Araluen.” She explained gently. For a moment, Will thought that Cassie was going to argue. Then she got a sly look in her eyes that worried him, and shrugged, turning and walking off in a huff. “That went well.” Alyss sighed, watching her go. “Well boys, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”


	2. Blue Hyacinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Chapter 2!
> 
> It's not too bad so far, is it?
> 
> \- Jay

Araluen erupted into chaos as they were handcuffed and dragged roughly towards the end of the street by the guards. Looking murderous, Halt kept his head high, allowing himself to be dragged along and forcing the pain back down. The last shred of control he had over his cold fury disappeared as he heard Will’s voice raised over the crowd.

“Halt!” Will called, a note of panic in his voice as he tried to fight his way past three burly guards at once.

“Let me go.” Shoving one of the guards holding him with his shoulder, Halt made it a few steps before being tackled almost to the ground. The pain rose up again, flashing white behind his eyes. “Will, don’t worry.” He bought his knee up hard, not caring particularly where it landed. One of the guards doubled over in pain, and Halt struggled upright again, each painful breath aching along his ribs as he fought back, arms twisted tightly behind his back, sending fire along his nerves with every movement. “I’m not going to leave.”

“Halt, stop.” Struggling to stay by the sofa rather than be dragged away, Crowley shouted at Halt so as to be heard over the din. Whether or not he was, Halt didn’t stop, continuing to fight off guards in his attempt to get back to Will. “They’re going to kill you, stop!” Still struggling, still fighting, Halt tried to get free, a blank rage lurking in his eyes. “Halt!” As the fear and tension rose in Crowley’s voice, Halt turned to look at Crowley, frowning. For a moment, it seemed as if he was going to say something.

And then he woke up chained to a mast on a gently rocking boat.

“Urgh.” He tried to sit up as the world swam around him. “Where are we?”

“On the river.” Crowley sounded a little frustrated at him. “I told you to stop.” Leaning his back against the mast, Halt looked around, trying to take in their surroundings. They were on the river, as Crowley had said, probably making their way towards the sea. Currently, the boat they were on was some kind of barge, which was being rowed slowly along with the current while the Clonmel guards stood at every perceivable exit point for the two of them.

“Shit.” Said Halt pragmatically.

“Why didn’t you stop?” Crowley asked, anger masking his fear. “I told you to stop. I told you – Halt, they could have killed you.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying his emotions. Struggling closer to him, every nerve in his body lighting up with pain, Halt tried not to think of the look of terror he had seen on Will’s face.

“I promised Will that I wouldn’t leave him behind.” He whispered against Crowley’s shoulder, eyes closed, the gentle rocking of the boat making him feel uneasy – too aware of the water not so far below them.

“Halt –”

“I promised him, Crowley. I let him down.” The guilt burned through him, making its way into his choked, numb voice. Crowley gingerly wrapped his arms around him, setting into the least painful position possible.

“It wasn’t your fault, love.” Soothing and gentle, with the illusion of calm in every word, Crowley held Halt close. He hesitated for a moment, watching the guards before speaking in a lower tone. “Just – just don’t do that again. I can’t lose you.” They both knew that Halt felt the same. The knowledge soaked through the quiet that hung in the space between them, through the peace that they held in each other’s presence.

“You’re stuck with me, honey.” Halt said eventually, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “So, what’s the plan?” The weary determination was too familiar to him. It was almost comforting, blunting the sharpness of the pain until it was a dull, bone-deep ache.

“Love – there – there isn’t a plan. We’re not escaping.” It took a moment for Halt to accept the idea. He frowned, looking up to gaze at the horizon, as if he could see the town beyond the edge of the sky and the land.

“Why not?” A wistful note entered his voice as he looked towards Araluen, gently threading his fingers through Crowley’s hair and working out the knots one by one with excessive care.

“Alright. If you can stand up, then we’ll make an escape plan.” Halt frowned, a determined set to his jaw as he shuffled backwards. Breathing deeply and evenly, he tried to ignore the pain. The chain attached to his handcuffs was loose, providing no real impediment to his standing. All at once, he decided. There was no point delaying. For almost a full second, Halt thought he had succeeded, his legs firm beneath him. Then the pain caught up with him, agony shooting up his right leg from his ankle. A thousand burning, slicing, aching, bruising hurts made themselves known at once and he staggered sideways, sliding down the mast as he tried desperately to remain upright. Crowley was waiting quietly, gathering Halt into his arms as he fell awkwardly back onto the rough-hewn planks of the deck.

“You’ve made your point.” Not quite able to remove the bitterness from his voice, Halt leant equally on the mast and on Crowley, angry at his own weakness, at the pain that refused to leave them alone, at the helplessness of the situation. “So, we wait then.”

“Wait, plan, and rest.” Crowley said evenly, murmuring into Halt’s hair.

“At least we’re together.” Equally quiet, Halt closed his eyes, shutting out the rest of the world so that he could pretend he was alone with Crowley. “I can bear the waiting, if it’s with you.” In the silence, everything was easier to cope with – the pain was distant, the guards could be ignored. Even the relentless rocking of the boat faded into the background.

The splintering of wood on the deck before them broke the silence into sharpness and chaos, into the shouting of the guards, the whinnying of horses, Gilan’s joyful peal of laughter. For a moment, Halt thought he’d fallen into a wonderful, confusing dream. Then he felt fresh sharp pain from a particularly large splinter in his hand and realised that it wasn’t. Crowley was crying next to him, tears of impossible happiness as Halt wrapped his arms tighter around him, shielding him from the fight. Gilan fought fiercely, dismounting from Blaze so as to reach his attackers better in the cramped and crowded space of the deck. There were too many of them, and though his sword flashed in and out, darting like quicksilver, it wasn’t quite quick enough, and there was a hollow thud as he hit the deck, unconscious. With a wordless cry, Halt dove forwards, gripping onto Gilan’s shoulders and managing to pull him a little closer to the mast, where Crowley helped him, glaring in defiance at the guards.

“Get back! I’m a doctor!” Neither of them had noticed the other rider, too focussed on the impossibility of Gilan, loud and laughing and living. Now, they glanced at one another as the angry young man brandished a scalpel at the advancing guards. Groaning, Gilan was already starting to come around again, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there.

“Don’t hurt him!” Crowley said sharply. They listened long enough for him to gather his thoughts. “We need a doctor. I imagine you need us to reach Clonmel alive.” The captain of the guard turned, walking with sinister purpose towards them, swinging his short sword in small, controlled circles.

“You need the doctor, then. But this one isn’t necessary.” His boot came close to Gilan, who was still grasping at the fringes of consciousness. Crowley glared up at him.

“I imagine you want to reach Clonmel alive too.” He said quietly, holding the captain’s gaze for a long moment before the other man turned around, gesturing for two of the guards to restrain Gilan and the doctor – his secret partner, Halt realised with a small, hidden smile.

“You’ve torn your stitches again.” The young man grumbled as Gilan grinned groggily at him. “Fetch my saddlebags.” He snapped at one of the guards, who only glanced briefly at the captain before obeying. As his shirt was pulled off, Gilan turned his smile on Crowley and Halt.

“Hi dads.” He beamed, eyes struggling to focus. “I’m not dead.” Laughing sharply, his partner brandished a needle and thread with much the same menace that he had the scalpel.

“Gave it your best shot though.” Muttering to himself, the young man glanced up at Crowley and Halt briefly. “I’m Doctor Lewis Kang. Nice to meet you.” Then he ignored them once more, re-stitching the wound that Gilan had torn open in his attack on the guards. Halt looked at Crowley, smiling despite himself. It felt like a miracle. It felt like the world apologising for everything they’d been through.

“I’m glad you’re alive, son.” He said quietly, glaring at Gilan as if daring him to mention it. Thankfully, Gilan just smiled softly, with no teasing retort for once. They remained quiet until Lewis sat back, packing his kit back away while Gilan pulled his shirt back on. Halt relaxed against the mast, leaning his head sideways onto Crowley’s shoulder with a low groan of pain.

“How did you find us?” Crowley asked, after a few hours. A light rain had set in, coolly misting over them as they sat around the mast.

“That would be our Will.” Grinning, Gilan shifted from side to side. “He said you’d been arrested for killing dad.” The amusement was clear in his voice, just holding back his laughter at the thought.

“Hm.” For several hours, Halt had been pretending to sleep, trying to convince himself that if he pretended long enough, it would work and he would find himself dreaming. As Gilan spoke, he opened one eye slowly, then closed it again, shifting closer to Crowley. “Honey, if you’re planning on murdering me, could you let me get some sleep first?”

“Of course, love.” He replied smoothly, putting one arm around Halt’s shoulders. “How was Will?”

“Angry. Scared. Relieved to see me, but I do tend to have that effect.” Gilan winked at Lewis, who rolled his eyes to an impressive degree. “We had an argument, I won, and he’s staying in Araluen while we stage a daring rescue.”

“You had an argument?” Raising one eyebrow slowly, Halt kept his eyes closed, still clinging to the pretence of sleep as though it would somehow transform into real rest.

“Yeah. He wanted to come with me. I said it was too dangerous.” Hesitating, Gilan frowned at the deck. “I mean – I don’t know much about Clonmel, but I know you had to leave, and that doesn’t bode well for any of us going back.” Halt opened his eyes at last, sharing a long look with Crowley.

“He’s going to find out eventually, and it’s better if he’s not going in blind.” Allowing himself a small smile, Crowley brushed the hair out of Halt’s eyes with his free hand. “And besides, this is a family matter.” He was right, Halt knew. That didn’t make it easier to try and break down the walls he had been building his entire life.

“Hm.” For a moment, Halt looked as though he were going to sleep again, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. When he spoke again, it was so quiet that the others gathered around the mast could barely hear him – let alone the guards patrolling the deck. “My brother tried to kill me.”

“Holy shit.” Lewis said blankly.

“He wanted to be Earl of Clonmel, and he was born second, so he tried to kill me. After a while, I got bored with dodging his attempts. I made sure there was plenty of evidence that I’d been poisoned when he got Morgarath involved, and then I faked my death and ran away.” He closed his eyes again, slumping a little further against Crowley. It was clear no further answers were coming. Gilan didn’t ask, processing what he had learnt and fitting it into the mental image he had of Halt as they sat in the cold, refreshing rain.

“Right.” He said, after a while. “So, what’s the plan, Pa?” Turning to Crowley, he looked expectant, certain that Crowley would have a brilliant idea for them to escape. Halt felt the tension in Crowley’s shoulders through his cheek.

“Why does everyone assume I have a plan?” Sounding slightly aggrieved, Crowley followed Halt’s lead, closing his eyes and relaxing in the cold, misting rain. “We need time to rest and heal. The plan is to wait.” There was, Halt thought, little that he hated more in this world than waiting.

“Well, that’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard in a while.” Lewis remarked dryly, even as Gilan began to argue.

“Shouldn’t we be trying to escape?” He looked around, from Crowley to Halt and then to Lewis. “If he tried to kill you, surely you don’t want to go back.” There was no response. “Isn’t it dangerous?” He asked desperately, unable to understand why they weren’t raging against their confinement, why they had no energy to fight and run and get free.

“Yes.” The tiredness in Halt’s voice was overwhelming. It went deeper than a simple need to sleep – although, Halt mused, getting some sleep probably wouldn’t do any harm. “It is dangerous. But there’s nothing we can do about it now, unless Will comes up with a half decent plan to rescue us.”

“Will’s not coming! I told him to wait in Araluen.” As Gilan pulled forwards, his chains clanked, reminding him of their situation, of his failed rescue. Reminding him that Will would wait in Araluen forever, because he wasn’t going to be bringing them back within the week.

“What would you have done?” Crowley asked calmly, no trace of reproach in his tone. Wanting to deny it, Gilan nonetheless sighed, somewhat more heavily, and dropped his gaze to the deck again, watching the rivulets of light rainwater run along the planks.

“I – I would have snuck out and followed anyway.” He replied, as Halt tried not to think about the danger Will could be in. Despite his efforts, the mental images tumbled in, unstoppable. “Shit.” Muttered Gilan, shoulders curling forwards with the weight of his guilt.

“He’ll be fine.” Though the words were meant to be reassuring, Halt couldn’t determine, even in his own mind, whether he was trying to comfort Gilan or himself. “He’s a smart lad.” The sound of soft, light rain pattering against the canvas and wood was persistent, filling the silence between each word. The deck creaked below them with every step of the guards, heaving gently as they travelled downriver.

“He’ll be fine.” Gilan repeated quietly, firmly, sounding more confident than before as he leant backwards, tilting his face up to the grey clouded sky.

Halt wished more than anything that he could believe that.


	3. Forsythia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tada! ngl, writers block has been kicking my arse with this lately, but I've done planning and future chapter writing, so we should be on track from here on out for a more smooth ride.
> 
> -Jay

The loading of the wagons was an exhilarating process. Hauling mail bags up and into the shelter of the arched wood and white canvas built the anticipation of the journey, and Alyss felt more at home among the shouting and pushing and the harnessing of the horses and the packing of their supplies than she ever had anywhere else. It was noisy and crowded and she could feel her part in all of it – her purpose, the place where she fit in.

“And you think they can help?” Pauline asked gently, walking in between the hustle and bustle, seemingly completely unperturbed by the chaos around her. While Alyss tried to imitate her calm demeanour, she couldn’t help but fear that she was missing some crucial element.

“Yes.” She said firmly. “Absolutely. Will and Horace can help us with security, and Will’s fairly self-sufficient anyway, and then when we reach the city, they can leave to help Halt and Crowley.” Brow creasing slightly as Will and Horace came into view, Alyss watched as Will put several bundles of arrows in his saddlebags, strapping his bow to the side with a sense of grim purpose.

“Do the Rangers know that young Will is coming with us?” Hesitating, Alyss looked from Will to Pauline and then in the direction of the camp of Rangers, currently packing up outside the town to travel back to whatever place they called home. They had been louder in their grief than Alyss had expected. Will went quiet with it, but it seemed to be typical among the Rangers to celebrate when in mourning, to remember the positives of the person they had lost. It certainly seemed, from her own limited perspective, to be a healthy way to cope with death, rather than drowning in the impossible loss.

“Yes.” Alyss decided eventually, meeting Pauline’s gaze once more. “He said that he told them.” She didn’t mention that Will had almost certainly been lying to her when he’d said that – she knew he would be going on his rescue mission either way, and it was far better that he had his friends with him when he did so. Hesitating again for a moment, she came to a stop a few meters from the wagons. “I want to go with them to Ireland.” Voice firm and calm and steady, Alyss was almost surprised at how certain of herself she sounded.

“Of course.” With a small smile, Pauline also stopped, following Alyss’s line of sight to the two boys, now comparing weapons as they secured their scabbards and finished packing their supplies. “I imagine they’ll be quite grateful for your help.” She almost sounded amused by the idea – nothing extravagant, of course, just the faintest hint of humour in her tone. It was one of the many small signs Alyss had learnt to read in her short time with the couriers, clues in the investigation of how she fit into their world. Her world, she thought, with no small amount of pride.

“Thank you.” Alyss replied, beaming at her mentor. Her answering smile was small, but no less warm for it.

“Just so long as you come back to us. You’re an excellent courier, Alyss, and we’d be sorry to lose you.” It was surprisingly touching to hear, and Alyss ducked her head in embarrassment, suddenly shy. “Now, I have to go and double check our food supplies, and it looks like you have to stop a decapitation.” Indeed, Horace was swinging his sword in stunningly fast circles that looked to Alyss’ eyes to be coming too close to Will’s head for comfort. She looked back to see Pauline gilding away towards the last of the wagons and groaned as she realised that she was going to be dealing with the two of them for the next few months on the road. For one moment, she wondered if she’d made a horrible mistake by suggesting they travel with the couriers on their way to save Halt and Crowley. Then she felt guilty for thinking that, knowing how torn up inside Will was over their capture.

“Right then.” She said, and, squaring her shoulders, went to tell them off.

The wagons creaked and sighed, canvas stretching, beams twisting and wheels clattering over the ground. The whole train was five wagons long, and Alyss rode proudly at the front, sharpening her long, thin knife as she talked to Horace and Will. Here, cool and shaded from the midday sun, she was in her element.

“So, what’s the plan for when we reach the city?” She saw the glance Will gave Horace, as if expecting him to try to lead, before squaring his shoulders. Interestingly, Horace didn’t seem to notice or care to try and present a plan himself.

“I know that you know where George is living. We could go to him for help while we’re staying in the city.” Glancing again at Horace, almost defiant, Will kept going, plunging ahead with his plan. “You said we were going to arrive before them, right?” Alyss didn’t bother answering, knowing that the question was more rhetorical than anything else, that it was just part of Will vocalising his plan. “So, we need somewhere to stay, we’ll need food for a few days, and probably somewhere to wash.” She tried to avoid smiling, sliding her sharpening stone along her blade over and over again, the rhythm familiar and relaxing, allowing her mind to run free. “I’ll go down to the docks, I can identify their crest and find which boat they’ll be crossing the ocean in. Then we can figure out how to stop them.” He seemed more confident than he had been before, Alyss thought, smiling to herself. It was nice to see one of her childhood friends so clearly blossoming – even if he was clearly carrying baggage that had deeply scarred him.

“Alright.” Horace said, relaxed against the side of the wagon. “It’ll be nice to catch up with him.” They sat in silence, with the quiet sliding of stone on blade and the creaking of the wheels accompanying their thoughts. It had been almost two years, Alyss thought, since George had left to train as a lawyer. The two of them had always been close, enjoying their fast-paced linguistic debates – arguments, she thought fondly – that the others had never quite been about to keep up with – other than Will, of course, whose lightning wit had been somewhat feared amongst the younger generation in Araluen.

“I’m going to see Tug.” Eventually, Will stood up, hunched over in the small space as he made his way past bags of mail, across the rocking floor to the flap of fabric at the wagon entrance and out into the sunlight.

“Is he going to stop the wagons?” Asked Alyss, looking over at Horace with clear concern in her voice. One of the many things that had been drummed into her over and over again while travelling with the couriers was that the wagons should never be stopped. They had to continue from dawn until dusk, rolling unstoppable over the plains with their cargo of letters and parcels and files. They were communication, the link between the great open plains and the rest of the world, and they could not be halted in their endless rolling.

“He’s a Ranger, he doesn’t need to. They’re basically magic.” The confidence in Horace’s voice made her curious, and Alyss stood up as much as she was able to in the cramped space, following Will out into the sun. She was just in time to see him jump from the wagon to hang from the side of his horse’s saddle, one foot in a stirrup, and to stare in amazement as he swung from there up to sit properly astride Tug, all the while accelerating to overtake the wagon that Alyss was balancing on. Realising her mouth had been hanging open, she abruptly closed it, watching in awed silence as horse and rider sped ahead in a cloud of thick, reddened dust.

“Told you, magic.” Horace said, poking his head out. While Alyss suspected that the reality of the situation was closer to hard training, she simply smiled and nodded, watching Will as he slowed again to ride beside them.

“We’ll scout ahead.” He said, patting Tug’s neck. “It’s getting into the afternoon, so I’ll keep an eye out for campsites.” After a few seconds, Alyss realised he was waiting for a response and smiled calmly.

“I’ll tell Pauline – Ms. DuLacey.” As she turned to make her way along the length of the wagon in order to deliver the message, she hesitated, looking back at Will. “Good luck.” She smiled at him and was gratified to see him nod once before accelerating away once more, Tug’s speed incredible when compared to the even trotting of the wagon train. Horace looked almost jealous, seemingly itching to race after him. “Right then.” Alyss said, putting one arm out to steady herself, and ducked back into the wagon interior to make her way to its rear.

Will’s campsite was partially hidden from the track they were following, a dip in the landscape with high brush along one side that he had reinforced with dirt and twigs by the time they caught up. After he took Horace on a perimeter sweep, Alyss managed to get the pair of them to sit down and relax by one of the smaller fires with plates piled high. It was only after Will had been assured that Tug would be fed and watered with the other horses that he allowed himself to wind down, sitting on the other side of Horace and emptying his water gourd in one gulp. They were eventually left alone to talk and eat as the others around their campfire left to get an early night. The sun had long since set when one of the other Couriers – Maxwell, a conscientious man who liked to check through the mail every night – walked up out of the darkness towards them.

“Is this one of yours?” Maxwell asked, stepping into the circle of firelight that Alyss was sat in with Horace and Will. She didn’t notice, at first, the small figure being dragged around by the arm behind him, but as she looked up, Alyss recognised her immediately and sighed. Her first thought was that she should really have expected Cassie to sneak along with them.

“Hi Alyss!” Irrepressibly cheerful, Cassie waved with her free hand. Waving back, Horace smiled, seemingly unsurprised by this development. Alyss tried to feel something other than resignation and disappointment at herself for not seeing it sooner. Sighing, she patted the ground next to her, and Cassie grinned, twisting her wrist free and throwing herself down next to Alyss. Laughing softly, Maxwell turned away, shaking his head as he left to go and find somewhere to sit and eat. She couldn’t quite imagine what he was thinking and winced slightly at the idea of having to explain the sudden appearance of another of her friends to Pauline.

“Were you just hiding in the mail bags?” Will asked, leaning past Horace to address Cassie. He, likewise, did not seem surprised, more curious about how she’d managed to avoid detection.

“Yep!” Helping herself to a large portion of beans, Cassie beamed at Will. “Bit of a squeeze, but I wasn’t just going to get left behind while you guys had an adventure.” It was only because Alyss happened to be looking at Will while she spoke that she noticed him flinch, shoulders hunching forwards for half a second before he retreated behind the oblivious Horace again, sitting back so that he couldn’t be easily seen from her position. Frowning, Alyss wondered if there was anything she could do about that. She resolved to ask Pauline about it – she always knew what to do.

“I’m sure we’re glad for your company.” She said eventually, smiling at Cassie, who went slightly red. This was not an uncommon reaction on her part, but it was one that Alyss really liked to produce. In her own private opinion, Cassie was incredibly cute when she blushed. “Did you hear the plan?” Trying to sound more frustrated than impressed, Alyss tilted her head in the manner that Pauline often did when dealing with what she called ‘difficult people’.

“Yeah, find George, sleep on his floor for a bit, rescue the Rangers.” Shrugging, Cassie shovelled a spoonful into her mouth, wolfing it down as though she was starving. “Should be fun.” This, Alyss considered, was why it would have been better for Cassie to stay at home. She had no sense of the severity of the situation facing them – and no experience travelling, even under less dangerous circumstances.

“Mhm!” Replied Horace cheerfully, and Alyss wondered if his skill was worth the overly optimistic naivety that the two of them bought to this mission and decided rather reluctantly that it probably was. If even half of what Will and that tall and not-dead Ranger – Gilan – had implied about the kidnappers was true, they would need all the help they could get.

“Well, that’s the gist of it.” She said slowly, reluctantly. “We’ll go over the details again tomorrow.”

“I’m going to go and do some training.” Will said suddenly, putting his plate down and standing up. There was something tense in his expression that hadn’t been there before. He didn’t wait for anyone to react before he left, picking up his belt and slinging it over his shoulder as he walked away into the darkening night.

“Is he alright?” Gazing after him, Horace sounded more concerned than Alyss would have expected him to be. The old Horace wouldn’t have noticed or cared, she thought.

“No.” She replied, after some careful consideration. “But I really don’t know if he can be right now. He’s doing his best.” After all, she thought, Will had been through a lot in the past months. That he was still functioning on any level was impressive, at least in Alyss’ opinion.

“I’ll go and make sure he’s not alone.” Horace stood up, pushing away his half-finished dinner firmly. “Will’s not good at being alone.” Watching him leave, Alyss frowned, rearranging her mental framework for Horace and his behaviour.

“He’s grown up.” She murmured to herself, not sure why that knowledge had escaped her. With Will, it had been expected. Alyss had always known Will wasn’t – complete, for lack of a better word – that he would grow beyond the ward from Araluen. Horace, however, she had seen as more fixed. A solid point in the world, unmoving, consistently the strong, careless boy she had grown up with. Even this slight change unnerved her slightly, throwing her off. It didn’t seem like a good omen for their journey, that even at the start of it she was starting to realise that she didn’t know her companions as well as she had thought she did. Not a good omen at all.


	4. Geranium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once more my friends.
> 
> Fun times, lots of Lewis.
> 
> -Jay

Waking up in chains was an awful experience. Lewis’s arm was cramped, twisted behind his back and pulled uncomfortably where he lay on the swaying deck. From what he could tell, he was the first to wake up. Talking long into the night had evidently exhausted Gilan and his dads, Lewis thought, smiling to himself as he sat up and shuffled himself into a better position, glaring furiously at a patrolling guard. He was angry. Angry because he hadn’t thought to ask Gilan about having a rescue plan, and angry because that lack of a plan had got them kidnapped. He felt helpless, and that made him pointlessly, furiously angry. Nothing about the peace of the morning, the quiet lapping of the water against the hull of the boat, the pink-gold of the dawn still lingering in the sky, could dispel that anger for long.

It was Crowley who started into wakefulness next, with a sudden hiss of pain and grasping his side tightly with one hand as the other scrabbled desperately at the deck for a few hopeless seconds before he managed to take a deep, rasping breath and struggle the rest of the way out of sleep. He saw Lewis looking and offered him a crooked smile, wrapping his hand around his chain and using it to pull himself upright. When he dropped his hand from his side Lewis could see that there was a dark red-brown stain on his shirt that had not been there when he went to sleep – a hidden wound that had opened back up and bled slowly and persistently through the night. Half his face was covered with a nasty bruise, purple and blue and black painted under his skin. Lewis sighed and stood up, shaking his cramping arm.

“Oi!” He yelled at one of the guards, stood near the temporary pens that had been erected for Blaze and his horse, who Lewis had privately taken to calling Bastard. “I need my medical supplies. Fetch them.” Pointing to Bastard’s saddlebags imperiously, he glared again, managing to intimidate the guard enough that he didn’t question why he was being bossed around by a small doctor who was chained to the mast. Snatching the kit from him, Lewis sat back down, unbuttoning the flap and drawing out a small bottle, some cotton, and a needle with a spool of thread threaded through it. He glanced at Crowley and then took out a thick roll of bandages as well, managing to set it down in between them in a threatening way.

“Wait for him to wake up.” Crowley said quietly, tilting his head to Halt. “He needs the rest.”

“Fine.” Flipping his needle between his fingers, back and forth, Lewis waited, listening to the quiet wheeze of Crowley’s pained breathing. “What happened?”

“I got myself stabbed.” Beside him, Halt shuffled in his sleep with awkward, painful movements. Gazing at him with adoration that mingled with concern in his eyes, Crowley smiled gently. “Morgarath attacked Araluen, and we all got hurt fighting him off.”

“You were stabbed?” Lewis asked. As he looked up again, Crowley frowned, considering his next words.

“I made the best of a bad situation. There were no good options.” The tired acceptance in his voice almost scared Lewis. He wondered how many times Gilan had been forced to make a choice like that, and the idea sent a chill down his spine.

“Is it always that bad?” Glancing at the quietly slumbering Gilan, Lewis’ voice betrayed his deep concern.

“No – not always.” He replied carefully. For a long moment, they sat in silence, Crowley’s eyes half closed as he almost seemed to be falling asleep again. “I wish I could say he’ll be safe, but I just don’t know.” Anger at his soothing tone bubbled up in Lewis uncontrollably.

“Aren’t you in charge? Can’t you do anything?” Tone harsher than he had intended, Lewis felt his frustration rising, with the same helplessness he had felt upon opening the gates to see Gilan lying face down in the road with a crossbow bolt in his back. It was a feeling he never wanted to feel again, and it made bile rise in his throat at the memory.

“We’re leaving. Halt and I – after we escape, we’re leaving.” Crowley replied, after a long moment of silence. He didn’t meet Lewis’ eyes, looking instead at Halt with a melancholy and softness that felt far too private for Lewis to see.

“Oh.” The way Crowley said it caught him off guard – calm and slightly sad, completely certain of himself, and Lewis wasn’t entirely sure of what to say. He glanced at Gilan, long limbs stretched out unevenly across the deck as he slumbered peacefully. “Have you told him?” There was no need to specify who he was talking about, not when the tenderness crept unbidden into his voice as he shifted his hand closer to Gilan, their fingertips just about brushing.

“We haven’t told anyone yet.” That same tired calm tone remained in every word. Lewis found his unreasonable, restless anger growing more and more the longer Crowley spoke.

“Why not?” He was almost furious at the idea that they had been planning to just abandon the Rangers – abandon Gilan – and they hadn’t even thought to share it with anybody.

“Because – because by the time I knew we had to go, Morgarath was making his final moves, and then Rangers were dying, and then I thought I was dying, and then we got dragged away and onto this boat.” If possible, Crowley sounded even more tired than he had upon waking up, manoeuvring his arm slowly around Halt’s shoulders.

“He deserves to know.” Lewis grated, glaring at Crowley unrelentingly. He knew, deep in his heart, how it would destroy Gilan if they just disappeared with no trace.

“Yes.” Sighing heavily, Crowley was tense with the pain, holding himself as still as possible. “Yes, he does.” He didn’t know what to say to that, so Lewis said nothing, fiddling with his needle and thread again as he watched Crowley try to find a comfortable position that probably didn’t exist. “We thought he was dead, Lewis. And we thought we would never see him again.” The deadened, far-off look in Crowley’s eyes as he spoke gave Lewis an unpleasant jolt as he remembered once again the gnawing grief that had bought him to a stop for the few seconds that he had believed Gilan to be dead. There was nothing he could say to that, nothing to combat that echoed feeling that killed all other emotion and ate away at everything that made him human. As they sat in silence, Halt began to stir, his sleeping fitful. There was something unspeakably private in the way that Crowley turned to him, lowering his head to whisper something comforting, and Lewis looked away, down at the deck and then up to the lonely, open plains passing by on either side as they continued down the river.

Halt woke suddenly, jerking out of whatever dreams had been haunting his rest with one hand where his knives ought to be. As Lewis disinfected his needle and thread thoroughly, Crowley sighed heavily, leaning away from Halt enough that he could unbutton his shirt and take it off, peeling it away where the dried blood had stuck the cloth to the wound. It was ragged, half closed and bleeding slowly, and Lewis got to work immediately, cleaning the dried blood away and disinfecting the wound before he sewed it closed, ignoring the occasional flinch from Crowley. The task was fairly straightforward, and Gilan was only just beginning to stir by the time he was finished, opening his eyes blearily as Crowley buttoned up his shirt again over the tightly wrapped bandage covering Lewis’ handiwork and sat back once more against the mast, stretching slowly and carefully in the morning sunlight. The rust coloured stain remained, dry and dark brown. As Lewis packed his kit back away, Halt whispered something that was just too quiet for him to hear, and Crowley laughed, loud and clear, a bright and cheerful sound that didn’t fit with their situation. For a moment, everything felt normal, and Lewis almost forgot they were all chained to a mast together. Then, one of the patrolling guards stepped deliberately on Gilan’s hand as he strolled past, and all the anger and frustration and helplessness rose back up as he launched himself as far after the man as the chains allowed him to, shouting challenges and obscenities in equal measure at his retreating back.

Lewis was familiar with anger. His emotions burned hot and close to the surface, and he knew them as old friends – hate and love and fascination and frustration and confusion and amusement. He was not close to helplessness. It was an oppressive, heavy feeling that he longed to rebel against and couldn’t. That, he supposed, was the point of it – being unable to do anything other than sit and watch the world go by as they sailed down the river. He suspected that Crowley was coming up with a plan, but neither of Gilan’s dads spoke much, preferring to catch up on what he suspected was some much-needed rest and watch the guards, assessing them. He knew that they were finding them wanting – that they saw weaknesses and opportunities he was blind to – and he wished that he knew what they knew, that he could understand the reason behind each exchanged look and half smile. Gilan was the only comfort he had in those long, restless months. Captivity had not dampened his spirits in the slightest, and he remained as energetic and irrepressibly jovial as ever. More than that, he explained what he was thinking – what he saw when he watched the guards, what plans he was formulating, and whatever he thought that Crowley and Halt might be plotting. It was the closest Lewis had to something to do, those conversations with Gilan, figuring out the details of a plan that had no real substance to it – the idea of an escape into the city and back to the plains. He even managed to feel excited at the prospect of riding back to the plains – although thinking too hard about that long journey on horseback made him feel inordinately grumpy. Even so the journey’s end, the return to their home, made hope bloom and blossom in his chest, as he dreamt of peace and joy on the plains that Gilan roamed so restlessly. Gilan told him about the Gorge, with a strange reverence in his voice as he described it – the cavern carved out by ancient waters, the lake that was all that remained of them, the alcoves and man-made hollows that they made into homes, into places of rest and comfort. He talked long into the night of the campfires with their smoke curling in the cold night air, filtering up through the hidden crevices in the rock that concealed them, of the warmth and companionship, of the singing, the laughter, the well-worn happiness that the Rangers found there, in their secret home.

As the river widened, meandering more languidly to its mouth, and suburbs began to crop up along its banks, they were moved below decks. It was more dirty, damp and warm, but Lewis kept his medical kit close, clipped onto his belt, and made sure that the many injuries that the others had been suffering continued healing. Gilan’s back had mostly healed by the time they were moved – closer to a ridged, sprawling scar than the gaping wound it had once been, and no longer liable to tear open at his frequent over enthusiastic gestures. His dads had new scars as well, but Lewis was certain from their dismissive attitudes towards them that they were not the first that either man had collected and would almost certainly not be the last.

The night before they docked, Crowley finally explained their plan, all huddled in the darkness below decks as guards patrolled or slept above them.

“We’ll pick the locks before we dock tomorrow, using your needles.” Lewis nodded, resting one hand on his medical kit. The quiet confidence that Crowley seemed to have in his plan was infectious, and he half wanted to start acting immediately. “When they send someone to check on us, Gilan can wait by the door and take them down quietly. Then we can make a break for it while they’re unprepared. Hopefully we can get to the pier, but we might have to take a swim in the harbour.” If Lewis hadn’t been looking at Halt at that moment, he would have missed the way he paled slightly, seemingly almost sick at the thought. As it was, he frowned, wondering whether he was coming down with something before dismissing the thought to concentrate on Crowley once more. “Once we get onto the deck, making noise is the most important thing. Even if they manage to stop us, if we get the attention of the authorities, we’ve got a good chance of getting free.”

“What about Blaze?” Asked Gilan, and Lewis couldn’t help but smile. Always thinking of his horse, he thought fondly.

“Halt will cut the horses loose while I get our weapons back. You two run. Blaze will follow.” Something about the plan didn’t sit right with Lewis.

“So that’s it?” He wanted to believe that it would succeed – he just couldn’t quite bring himself to. The others didn’t seem to share his reservations, looking at him with confusion as he took a deep breath and tried to explain. “Even if we do get off this damn boat, we’ll probably just get thrown back in prison by the dock guards.” His frustration at weeks of helplessness was bubbling up again, and he didn’t particularly want to try and stop it.

“Prison on land is better.” Crowley replied gently. Too gently, as if Lewis was a frightened child. His tone set Lewis’ teeth on edge, made him want to argue and fight.

“Hm. We can escape from there.” It was surprising to hear Halt weigh in on the argument. Lewis would have expected him to sit and glower in silence.

“We can? I’d assume they’re better guarded than this.” He spat back, gesturing at the guard-less space around them.

“Probably. But at least we won’t be sailing to Ireland to be hanged for murder.” Calm and even, with a note of undeniable finality to his voice, Crowley looked intensely at Lewis, turning his head away at the last moment to meet Halt’s gaze. He did that a lot, Lewis realised. It wasn’t that he was afraid of eye contact, but other than that, he couldn’t explain the habit. Just another thing he didn’t understand about Gilan’s dads. Another thing that he thought he might never understand.

“Good point.” Smiling cheerfully all around, Gilan leant back on his hands. For his sake, Lewis thought, keeping quiet rather than continuing the argument further. 


	5. Anemone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello folks
> 
> welcome back and all that, we have a chapter here for you tonight
> 
> enjoy
> 
> \- Jay

It was cold and damp and the air smelt of salt and fish. This had been the case for several days, but Halt knew that something was different the moment he woke up. Perhaps the rocking of the boat had changed, or perhaps it was simply some long-buried instinct that told him they were no longer in the harbour, that they were beyond the reach of land in the open ocean.

Halt didn’t have many irrationalities. He couldn’t afford them. But he knew that open water hated him. It was a knowledge that had filled his lungs with the brackish water his brother had tried to drown him in, and no amount of retching could rid him of the cold ghost of that water. He knew that it was irrational, and he knew, beyond a doubt, that he would die with liquid filling his lungs and throat, with the weight of the water pressing on him from all angles, inside and out, and with nothing he could do about it. He remembered what it was to drown. The choking, flowing fear, the pain on the back of his head where Ferris had hit him with the oar, the darkness so complete he couldn’t see a way up or down, and eventually, the feeling of Ferris’ hand on the back of his neck, holding him down. He didn’t remember crawling out of the water, retching and coughing and vomiting until his throat was raw and there was blood in his mouth. There had only been darkness and mud and the burning agony of drowning until he woke up, shaking and afraid, in his own bed with his father looking down on him.

“No more boating trips.” He’d said, as if Ferris wasn’t next to him and looking murderous. As if his eldest son had not just been nearly murdered. Halt had wanted to say something, but his lungs had still felt cold and watery, and all that had come up was coughing and retching until there was nothing but burning acid left in him. And then he’d done his best to throw that up too, and been left a trembling, weakened, terrified wreck. And then there had been Morgarath and the poison, and then the long trip to America, and then the Rangers.

Even the quiet sound of waves hitting the ship brought back those memories, and his shoulders shook with the effort of keeping it down as he laid his head on Crowley’s chest.

“It’s too late.” He whispered, closing his eyes and fighting back another wave of nausea. “Honey, he’s too late. We’re gone.” The hopelessness of the situation hit him fully, almost enough to bring him to his knees in that state, and had he not been already sitting down, he was sure he would have collapsed.

“Hm?” Drowsy but awake, Crowley ran his fingers absent-mindedly through Halt’s hair. “What’s that, love?” Halt hesitated, still fighting back the growing seasickness, his eyes screwed tightly closed as he pressed his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck, seeking wordless comfort.

“We’re at sea.” Each world was a struggle, and he tensed up over and over again, holding back the rolling waves of sickness by great effort.

“Oh.” Crowley’s hand moved in lazy circles over the small of his back, a small, familiar motion as he woke up and realised how ill Halt was and why. “I didn’t – love, I didn’t know.”

“No reason you would have.” He shrugged, almost immediately regretting the motion as Crowley had to hold him through another wave of nausea, each growing stronger than the one before. “I’ve drowned once, honey. It’s hard to forget.” There was an almost imperceptible hesitation in the circling of Crowley’s hand before he pressed a kiss to Halt’s forehead.

“Shh. It’s ok, I’m here. Whatever you need, love, I’m here.”

“Kiss me.” Were there anyone else to hear, Halt might have felt ashamed at the pleading in his voice. “Might not – might not get to for a while.” He attempted a smile, feeling altogether too ill to put warmth into it.

“Distraction?” Kissing him softly, Crowley leant back against the wall of their shared cell in the hull of the ship, letting Halt set the pace.

“Hm.” Pulling back for a moment, Halt examined Crowley’s face carefully before kissing him again, more urgent as he found Crowley’s hand with his own, lacing their fingers together against the rough wood planks. He almost managed to forget the motion of the ship below them, the sound of the waves and the seagulls and the creaking of the sails and beams around them. As Crowley pulled away, he made a small sound of frustration, gaze roaming across his face. Then he heard shuffling, a rustle of fabric as someone began to stir in the cell across from then, and he groaned, slumping against Crowley again and muttering something about time alone.

“Morning, Gilan.” Crowley said eventually, far more cheerful than he had any right to be as Halt’s stomach made a valiant attempt at rebellion once again. “We need to get a guard down here with a bucket. Halt’s a bit seasick.” That, Halt thought, was an understatement. He dragged himself to the bars of their cell in one awkward motion, hanging onto them as he had to Crowley as he shuddered with the effort of keeping another wave back. It was an effort that was growing steadily less effective, he knew. Soon, there would be nothing he could do but endure the shaking and vomiting and retching and coughing until he had nothing left to throw up. And even then, he considered, his body might still fight to expel water that wasn’t there.

“Halt.” He repeated, sitting up and nudging Lewis as he did so. “Seasick.” There was something amused in his tone that made Halt unreasonably angry, that made him want to lash out. Gilan, he reminded himself, had never felt water filling his lungs.

“Yes.” Meeting Halt’s gaze long enough to confirm that he was alright, Crowley stood up, beginning to hit at the planks of the deck above them. With a glance at Halt that almost went unnoticed, Gilan did the same, drumming out some irritating melody on the wood above them. Halt’s head pounded in time to the rhythm of the waves, insistent and disorientating. He groaned, leaning his head through the bars and closing his eyes as another wave of nausea wracked his body, coughing, retching, until he threw up into the passage between their cells. Shivering and shaking, he tried to drag himself more upright by clinging to the cell bars and promptly passed out, darkness claiming him as exhaustion and sea sickness and stress dragged him into unconsciousness. The last thing he heard before collapsing was Crowley, shouting something alarmed. He desperately wanted to reassure him, but before he could figure out how to speak again, Halt had passed out and there was nothing he could do.

“So, what happened?” As Halt managed to claw his way back to the waking world, he could hear Gilan speaking, voice faint and foggy as he tried to focus. “Last I remember is the guards in the other boat.” He knew the warm body upon which he was leaning would be Crowley, and making him his focus point, Halt was able to remember where they were and what had happened – Will buying Blaze, the changing of plans, and then the confusion of waking up drugged and at sea and helpless and sick. Opening his eyes blearily, he could just about make out the bars around them in the darkness.

“They smuggled us across the docks to a seaworthy ship and then set sail. Will probably went to break us out shortly after we left.”

“At least your demon-horse is safe.” Lewis muttered, combing Gilan’s hair back with his fingers to tie it up and out of his face. Closing his eyes again, Halt tried to ignore the swaying of the ship around them in favour of the comforting pressure of Crowley’s arm around his shoulders and the familiar roughness of his shirt against Halt’s cheek. In doing so, some small movement or noise alerted Crowley to the fact that he was awake. Instead of saying anything, Crowley stroked his thumb gently back and forth over Halt’s shoulder and pulled the bucket that the guards had provided slightly closer.

“We’ll figure out an escape plan. All this means is that we have to sail back home.” For a moment, Halt considered opening his eyes to see what was going on in the silence after Gilan stopped speaking, but by the time he had worked up the energy to properly face the waking world, Crowley was sighing and sitting up straighter, tension winding its way into his muscles.

“We need to talk about that.” His grip on Halt’s shoulder tightened slightly and his voice was so tense that Halt knew without a doubt what it was he was thinking of. “Gilan – we can’t go back.”

“What?” In his confusion, Gilan didn’t notice Halt opening his eyes and struggling into a more upright position. “Why not?” He glanced at Lewis, who Halt could just about see leaning against the bars without the slightest trace of surprise in his posture or expression. Of course, he thought dimly, Crowley had already told him they were leaving. He already knew.

“You two can. But Halt and I – we were always going to have to leave.” Twisting their fingers together in a show of solidarity, Halt let his head drop sideways onto Crowley’s shoulder, trying to conserve as much energy as he could.

“I don’t understand.” The pain and betrayal in Gilan’s voice was difficult to listen to, and Halt wished that he wasn’t awake to hear it.

“Even if we escape, Ferris still knows I’m alive.” Halt said quietly, startling Gilan, who had not realised he was awake until he spoke. A bitter smile twisted across his face as he paused, his breathing raspy and laboured, lungs chilled with the ghost of water long since coughed up. “He’ll do anything to – ha – change that.”

“I’ll go with you.” He replied desperately, leaning between the bars of his cell.

“No, Gilan. You have a life with the Rangers. A future.” A future, he thought bitterly, that Ferris had robbed him of out on those open and lonely plains. Robbed him and Crowley both.

“They’ll need a leader.” Crowley added quietly, giving Halt’s hand a quick squeeze of reassurance. There was a moment of silence as Gilan frowned, confusion clouding his face once again.

“Me?” He asked, glancing briefly at Lewis as if for confirmation that he had heard correctly.

“I can’t think of anyone who would do a better job.” Proud and fond and quiet, Crowley relaxed a little as Halt smiled tiredly, half closing his eyes.

“I can!” Gilan argued, leaning even further through the bars. Changing tactics, he frowned, examining Halt and Crowley for a second. “What about Will?” With the slightest flinch, Halt automatically felt for his pocket where the letter still resided.

“I wrote him a letter to explain everything.” He said quietly, looking down at his hand, his fingers still intertwined with Crowley’s.

“A letter?” Still frowning, Gilan sat back on his heels. There was brief moment of silence before he leant forwards again, gripping the bars tightly. “Wait, everything, everything?”

“Yes.” Halt sighed, limbs heavy with exhaustion as he held himself up through sheer force of will.

“In a letter?” His surprise was clear as he glanced at Lewis, who shrugged once in reply to some unspoken question.

“Yes.” He repeated in the same tired tone as Gilan stared wordlessly at him for several long moments before shaking his head in disbelief.

“Fine. Fine. What about Cropper and Abelard?” Again, Halt sighed, avoiding Gilan’s hurt and angry gaze. Beside him, Crowley tensed up, his grip tightening for a moment on Halt’s shoulder. They hadn’t discussed leaving their horses behind, unwilling to face that particular reality even as it became inevitable.

“They’ll be fine. They deserve to rest.” It had been so long since he’d felt properly rested, Halt thought bitterly, the sharp edges of the thought blunted by a lack of energy.

“What – what about me?” Gilan’s voice cracked with emotion, his breathing shaky as he seemed to crumple slightly.

“Gilan –”

“You were just going to leave. You’re still going to just leave me – leave me to – to –” Trailing off, Gilan looked down and took a moment to wipe his face clean.

“Gilan.” Though Gilan didn’t interrupt him, Crowley still looked lost, as though he didn’t quite know what he’d intended to say. Placing one hand on Crowley’s leg, Halt 

“Son, Ferris knows I’m alive. He knows I am – he knows I was a Ranger.” Trying to hide the pain that the idea of moving on from the Rangers was causing him, Halt kept his eyes locked firmly on Gilan. “That means they’re in danger, you’re in danger, Will is in danger. So, when we get to Ireland, when we escape, you two will go back home, and Crowley and I will make sure Ferris knows we’re not returning to the Rangers and then disappear.”

“Are you –” Hesitating, Gilan looked from Crowley to Halt and back again. “Are you going to kill him?” He asked, sounding oddly nervous, as if the answer he was expecting scared him. Halt breathed slowly, thinking of all Ferris had done, of the pain he’d caused. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to think of Caitlin. Memories welled up like a fresh spring of water, and he almost felt homesick for Clonmel for a second.

“No. Not yet.” He replied, keenly feeling the absence of his knives, the lack of weight at his hip oddly disconcerting.

It wasn’t that he’d lied to Gilan, but killing Ferris had been a comforting plan to work on in his youth, and while Halt had long since decided that he didn’t particularly want to kill his brother any more, it was all too easy for him to fall back into the old habits of hatred and plotting and resentment. Particularly when he was stuck on a prison ship crossing the ocean. The thought of the journey ahead made him feel sick all over again, and he blindly reached for the bucket. He felt supremely grateful for Crowley’s presence in the cell with him as he held him securely through the vomiting and pulled him back to lie against his chest once the fit of nausea was over and all that was left was shaking and weakness. Across from them, Gilan was watching the unmoving wooden planks with an embarrassed intensity. Halt couldn’t find it in himself to speak again, so he simply lay in silence, letting Crowley press kisses to the top of his head and whisper meaningless comfort against his skin.   
It was going to be a long trip.


End file.
